Chapter Text
A long day with the acolytes finally passes. He was hoping he could visit the library today, but a very, very drawn out talk with them crossed that goal out. If they wanted him to stay in that endless desert, they should have paid him enough to. Not like they’re out of money either, plus, Crossroads has way more opportunities anyway.
He should not have picked up Broker’s call.
Medkit strolls through Lost Temple’s roads. The mountains serve as a background set as his boots press against the pavement under. The desert night brings a cool breeze to his figure and blows back his cravat.
A certain memory arises and he sticks to the side of the buildings.
Perhaps it was his paranoia— or possibly his exhaustion— but whatever it is, he hears skittering. Medkit stops in his tracks and looks towards the rooftops as a known vantage spot. He scans against the dusky sky and finds a faint glow of orange before it dips away under a ledge.
Medkit immediately starts running. He runs through all the possibilities and questions why a Biograft would be stationed here, especially at this place and hour. How did it even find him? He hasn’t been that careless about his tracks, has he?
He doesn’t know how long he was running for, but it was long enough to the point where this is not going to be a simple night for him. Medkit catches his breath and pulls out his phone to see who he could call. His lungs were killing him at this point and he doubts he’d be able to form a coherent sentence to anyone, but he really hoped that his evasive maneuvers were enough.
When he stops and hurries into an alleyway to take a break, a small light briefly hits the side of the leg before a Biograft crashes into him.
Not enough, then.
Medkit grits his teeth and smacks the Biograft from the side with his gear, barely leaving a small dent but leaving enough of a greedy opening. He takes it and dashes towards his phone but a pressure knocks him to the floor in front of an alleyway.
Although disorientated, he hears the Biograft’s legs skitter towards him and he correctly rolls away. A pair of blinding blades strike the ground, cracks forming from its impact as he picks up his now damaged phone and slides it in his pockets. A sweat rolls off him and his revolver lays limp by his side, reminding him of his situation.
“Don’t tell me Blackrock is still looking for me.” he stands up and attempts a conversation with it. It slashes towards him in response.
“I HAVE NO INTEREST IN CONVERSING WITH A TRAITOR.” artificially echoes its voicebox.
“Whatever.” Medkit sticks to his gear and carelessly launches it into the Biograft, but by now it has predicted his move and parries him.
His gear launches out of his hands and deeper into the alleyway. When he turns his attention back, the Biograft has already secured his arms and shoves him to the ground. Medkit struggles in its grasp and only manages to free his left arm before its blades hover over his neck.
Well then. Years of running have finally ended here in a stale gap between buildings. He was hoping to have gone out with more glory, like protecting someone he values, or something. He doesn’t really know, he never really thought he’d be in this situation. Getting arrested for medical malpractice would have been a better obituary than this—
“CREATOR HAS ONE LAST MESSAGE FOR YOU.” Biograft informs. Great, Blackrock won’t let him have any peace at his end. Although…
Medkit slowly hovers his hand to unholster his revolver, careful not to make any sudden movements. “Oh— yeah? What’d he have to say that wasn’t important enough for him to see me himself?” he, for some reason, tries to rile up.
Biograft, strangely, follows through with his command, announcing, “AUDIO PLAYBACK, STARTING NOW…”
There’s a color change in its eyes as the recording begins to play. “…Hi Meddy!! Hope—“
He aims towards Biograft’s chest and empties the cartridge into it.
Silence permeates through the dark, only broken by his own breathing and the fans inside Biograft. Its blades lingers on his chest, yet only lingers long enough for the lights in his scrap body to go out. Medkit could only take a sigh of relief before the Biograft falls on top of him, crushing him underneath.
He tries to shove Biograft off, but with his last remaining strength spent on breathing, this turns out to be a fruitless task. Perhaps, in its final moments, it had intended to keep him pinned, and in that regard, it had succeeded.
Subspace really would go through any lengths to see him dead, huh?
His left hand with the revolver drops to the floor unceremoniously and he looks up towards the sky. He doubts his body would be found in time, and he can’t reach his gear while being pinned like this. What use was his gear if he couldn’t even use it in a time like this?
He has his phone, he remembers. His arm pats his pockets but does not find it.
He does not, in fact, have his phone, as he had misplaced it on the other side from where his free hand could not reach easily. Phuck his life.
In a stroke of insight, Medkit decides to tug at his trench coat in an effort to get the pocket closer to his hand. It’s slow and tedious, but he does manage to slide the edge over. He’s going to need a new coat after this, he muses.
The phone finally drops out of his pocket, albeit face-first. His left hand picks up the phone and puts it into his field of vision, hopeful at his odds.
The screen was practically gone. He desperately swipes at what few remaining pieces were left, unable to bother calling emergency services. He doubts they would have picked him up anyway, he left his wallet at home.
Of course that Biograft would target his one form of communication. He drops his hand and phone to the floor in defeat, wincing at the additional cracks that formed on the screen. Who would he have even called? The police? And get trapped in their monochrome walls? His desperation has limits, thank you very much.
Medkit sighs. Look at him now. Blackrock’s leading scientists to a nobody bleeding out in some random alleyway. What had Subspace have even said to him? He doubts waking up the Biograft was a good idea.
The phone rings.